


The Art of War

by draculard



Series: Nightthrawn 15 Day Ficlets [3]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Artist!Nightswan, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Thrawn 2017, Thrawn's Art Thing, standalone ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: A year after the Battle of Batonn, Yularen and his men discover Nightswan's hideout.
Relationships: Nevil Cygni | Nightswan/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Series: Nightthrawn 15 Day Ficlets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158710
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	The Art of War

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Day 3 Prompt, "Worthless."
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm draculard there too

Faro has served under Thrawn for less than a year when she gets the call from Yularen. 

“It’s nothing urgent,” he assures her. “A point of interest from an old mission, nothing more. The next time you’re in the Alderaan Sector, I’ll send someone to brief the Grand Admiral on my behalf.”

He must know that the Alderaan Sector is exactly where they’re headed, Faro thinks wryly, but at least he’s polite enough to pretend ignorance — most ISB agents don't bother. She passes the information along to Thrawn, who notes it without any outward sign of interest or curiosity, and they continue on their way.

Three days later, in orbit over the planet Delaya, Faro is present when Yularen’s lackey meets Thrawn inside his office. He brings with him a case of datacards, which he sets on Thrawn’s desk before speaking.

“Sir,” he says, “we’ve located a former safehouse of the Rebel known as Nightswan. Colonel Yularen instructed me to take a thorough record of the layout and bring it here.”

Faro studies Thrawn’s face. He’s utterly expressionless, but in a frozen sort of way that sets her on edge, as if he’s hiding something. There’s no evidence to support this theory, but her instincts scream at her that it’s true. He takes the box slowly, wraps his fingers around it, the gesture of a man who wants to spirit the datacards away, not watch them with an audience.

But perhaps her observations are wrong, or perhaps he's simply better than she is at controlling his own desires and emotional reflexes, because a moment later Thrawn opens the case and slots the first datacard into his pad. He links it to his holoprojector so they can all see what Yularen has brought him: images of a small apartment, cluttered with starmaps and datacards and crates of supplies that will never be used by the Rebels Nightswan intended them for.

Thrawn flips through images of Nightswan’s dusty, disused den — his rusting landspeeder — his neglected ship — his bedroom, the sheets pulled back and rifled through by Yularen's agents as they searched the flat. On the last datacard Thrawn pauses, his expression impossible to read.

“I know it’s more or less worthless to you now, sir,” says the ISB agent apologetically.

“No,” Thrawn murmurs, eyes hooded, fingers steepled over his mouth. “Not worthless.”

He looks deeply thoughtful, almost meditative, like he’s forgotten he’s not alone. Faro glances at the ISB agent and sees carefully-concealed confusion on his face; he’s never dealt with Thrawn before, and she can see him grappling with his instincts, uncertain whether to let the subject drop (as Thrawn so clearly wants him to) or to push for more, the way _he_ wants to.

He decides to keep going. There’s a tone of half-stifled schoolboy admiration in his voice.

“I’ve read all about it,” he says, shifting slightly; his body language shuts Faro out, indicates this is a conversation just for him and Thrawn. She stifles a scoff, refuses to leave. “It’s in your file. The Nightswan conflict. Batonn.”

Thrawn’s expression doesn’t change. He’s holding his breath, Faro notes. 

“And everyone knows about your talent for reading art,” says the ISB agent. He looks up at the holo, his eyes shining. “It’s no wonder you crushed him so thoroughly.”

Thrawn says nothing. After a moment, with a hint of awkwardness, the ISB agent adds, 

“I didn’t know he was an artist.”

Thrawn’s eyes are fixed on the holos before him, on the amateur sketches discovered in Nightswan’s home. Quick, utilitarian drawings, to Faro’s eye — skilled work, but not masterpieces. Yet Thrawn is gazing at them like they’re the lost artwork of a renowned master, finally unearthed. It's a look of appreciation, but also of sadness. Regret.

His thumb brushes over the power button, lingering there but not turning the holoprojector off. His lips barely move as he answers the ISB agent:

“Nor did I.”


End file.
